Deal and RIVAN's POV
The name alone twisted something deep in his chest. That house—
That house—was the only thing he ever wanted from Virendra Singh Thakur.
A place soaked in his childhood, his memories, his mother's voice, her pain, her soft humming echoing down the corridors like a ghost he could never forget.
He tried everything over the years—power, threats, money, silence—but Virendra never gave it.
Never even spoke of it.
Until now.
Rivan slowly turned.
His eyes were sharp. Piercing. Like they were trying to read every damn cell of Virendra's face.
"You'll give me that house... for a girl?"
"Seriously?"
His voice was low, mocking, laced with disbelief.
"You denied me for years. You pretended it never existed. You locked every memory of her—my mother—inside it. But now you'll throw it like a bone because you want me to accept a fucking marriage?"
Virendra didn't waver.
He stared back with that same calm, unreadable gaze.
And then came the words—
"Yes. I'll give it to you. But only if you make a deal with me."
Silence.
So sharp it could cut the air.
Even the wind dared not move.
Rivan's jaw ticked.
He didn't reply. Just stared.
His gun hung loose at his side now. Blood still stained his shirt. His temples pounded. But his heart—
His heart?
That traitorous organ stopped for a second.
Because this—this was not just a house.
It was a ghost.
A memory.
His mother.
And this man—his father—was putting a price on it.
The moment the deal left Virendra's mouth, something inside Rivan snapped.
The storm in his chest had been swirling for years. But now?
It erupted.
"Do you even have a damn idea," he seethed, voice shaking—
"how badly I wanted that house?"
His knuckles turned white, nails biting into his palms.
"I fucking begged you. I fought for it. I bled for it. But you—" he pointed a blood-streaked finger at Virendra—
"you kept it locked away like it meant nothing to me. Like I meant nothing."
His voice cracked, just for a breath—but he masked it with rage.
"And now? Now you throw it like a bribe just to tie me to that girl?"
He laughed. Cold. Broken.
"Everyone calls me a monster," he said, eyes gleaming, lips curling into a smirk full of pain,
"but you... you're the real monster, Virendra Singh Thakur."
He stepped closer—slowly, menacingly.
"You know how to use people. How to make your son beg. How to manipulate a man who carved himself out of blood and bullets just to make you notice."
He stopped, eyes burning.
"Or should I say—bastard son?"
That landed like a grenade.
Virendra's expression changed for the first time—anger flickered in his eyes.
"Don't you dare use that word!" he thundered.
"I have never thought of you as anything less than my blood. You're my son. I raised you, fed you, protected you like—"
"—STOP THIS FUCKING DRAMA!" Rivan's voice cracked the silence like thunder.
"If you really cared—if you ever gave a damn about me—then tell me...
WHY THE HELL DID YOU KILL MY MOTHER?"
A stillness descended.
Rivan's chest rose and fell rapidly, rage and grief pouring out of his eyes for the first time in years.
He wasn't holding a gun now.
He was holding a truth he could never let go.
And for the first time in his life—Rivan Thakur looked like that wounded little boy again.
Broken.
Abandoned.
Betrayed.
Virendra didn't answer.
Not because he didn't have one.
Rivan let out a bitter, hollow laugh.
A laugh that didn't touch his eyes.
A laugh soaked in venom and void.
"See?" he said, his tone turning mockingly polite.
"As usual—no answer. No truth. Just silence."
He stepped back, slow and calculated, his eyes never leaving Virendra.
"That's what you're good at, right, Mr. Thakur?"
His voice dipped into mocking rage.
"Dodging questions. Burying truths. Playing god in this fucking Haveli while people around you bleed for your decisions."
He looked away for a second, jaw clenching as that night came flooding back in splinters—his mother's screams, the coldness of her body.
His voice dropped—broken.
"She held me so close, she kissed my forehead. And you? You were there. Standing. Watching. Breathing. And doing fucking nothing."
He turned his back to him now, facing the garden, fingers twitching around the edge of his belt where his gun still sat snug—threatening but untouched.
"You didn't lose her that night, Mr. Thakur," he said coldly.
"I did."
A pause. A breath. A storm.
"And you lost me too."
"You may have raised me... but don't you dare think you made me.
You created a soldier. A machine. A monster."
He stepped forward once more, right into his father's space—close enough for venom to burn.
Rivan's eyes narrowed into slits as he turned back sharply, his jaw ticking.
"Of course.
What else can I expect from a man like you?"
His voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Tell me, Mr. Thakur—what's the actual deal? Because manipulation... that's your real language. You always want something in return. That's what you're good at, right? Trading hearts for favors. Sons for politics. Blood for silence."
Virendra didn't respond.
He simply stood there—calm, unreadable, unmoved by the storm crashing in front of him.
Rivan's rage only intensified in the vacuum of that silence.
"Answer me!" he thundered.
"You want me to stay in this haveli? With her? For what—one year? One fucking year?"
Virendra exhaled slowly, as if even speaking now might pour oil into fire.
"Yes. One year. You'll live with Devyani in this haveli. As husband and wife."
A tense silence fell.
Rivan's heart pounded like war drums in his chest.
He blinked—once. Twice.
Then he laughed.
A dry, bitter sound.
"You really do think I'm a joke."
"Do you even remember who I am?" he snapped, stepping closer.
"I have issues with girls even breathing near me—yet you want me to live with one under the same roof? Your planted, broken little girl?"
His voice darkened.
"What the hell are you plotting, Mr. Thakur? Why this girl? Why me? Why now?"
Virendra didn't answer.
Because some answers... were better buried.
His silence screamed louder than any words.
Rivan's lips curled into a scowl.
"You didn't give me that house when I begged. When I cried. When I bled. And now... you're giving it to me for a girl?
Why does she matter so much to you?"
Still no answer.
That silence—it was suffocating.
Like a crypt kept locked for too long.
Virendra's eyes, however, said something. Not fear. Not pity.
But... finality.
This wasn't a bargain.
It was a verdict.
Rivan stepped back, stunned and boiling all at once.
He turned his face away, trying to digest the insane demand.
One year.
With Devyani.
In this haveli.
With a girl who triggered him—just by existing.
His thoughts snarled inside his head, colliding with his pride.
But then...
A flicker.
A memory.
His mother's eyes. Her house. Her death. Her voice calling him "Rivu" with a warmth the world had stolen.
His fists clenched. He wanted that house.
He needed that house.
It wasn't just bricks.
It was his mother's ashes. Her blood. Her silence.
And for that... he'd trade even his demons.
He finally looked at Virendra—face cold, cruel, and calculating.
"Fine."
"I'll stay. One year."
He paused.
"But the day that year ends, I want every paper in my hand. That house will be mine. You won't change the deal. Not a word, not a comma."
Rivan leaned in, his breath brushing against Virendra's ear like a chilling breeze.
His voice was low, almost gentle—but laced with something far more sinister.
"For one year," he whispered, a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips, "she is mine.
Mine to love... mine to ruin. So don't even think about meddling in my life, Thakur Saab.
" His eyes glinted with madness—dangerous, unapologetic, and deadly calm.
Virendra gave him glare.
But Rivan wasn't done.
"And one more thing..."
His voice lowered like a warning thunder.
"If I even get a hint—just a fucking whiff—that this girl is a trap, or this is one of your messed up puppet games... I swear on the grave of the only person I loved... I'll burn this haveli down. With everyone in it."
He turned and walked away—dragging his deal, his rage, and his mother's ghost behind him.
Rivan's black car roared out of the gates like a raging beast released from a cage. The wheels screeched against the gravel, and within seconds, he vanished into the roads—chasing peace that didn't exist anymore.
Virendra stood still, his eyes following the path his son had taken. Silence hung in the air, thick with things left unsaid.
A soft voice broke through it.
"You okay?"
Yashodha stepped beside him, her saree swaying in the gentle sun. Her eyes, full of concern and tired hope, searched his face.
Virendra didn't look at her. He kept staring ahead.
"No matter whose blood is running in his veins..."
His voice was low, distant.
"...Rivan will always be my first child. The one I raised. The one I held in my arms when he didn't even know how to speak."
His throat tightened, but he didn't let it show.
"I gave him love, care... everything I could."
Yashodha sighed softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm.
"He'll understand, Virendra. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But slowly... he will. This one year... might just be what he needs."
Virendra turned slightly to her, eyebrows raised.
"So, you heard our conversation?"
Yashodha gave a sheepish smile.
"Of course, I did. I got scared. One of you carries a gun, the other one carries silence like a weapon—leaving you two alone is a safety hazard."
Virendra finally smiled—a rare, soft one. The kind he hadn't worn in years.
"Let's go inside," he said, gently patting her hand.
"A new phase of life is coming. Let's welcome it. Maybe... it's time to end our sad days."
Yashodha nodded slowly, eyes glinting with cautious hope.
"Yes, Virendra... maybe it's time."
And together, they walked back into the haveli—where darkness still lingered in corners, but so did the soft promise of change.
My head...
It felt like someone had driven a goddamn hammer straight through it.
The pain was dull but insistent, pounding behind my eyes, a slow, torturous rhythm that matched the rage already simmering beneath my skin.
What the hell happened?
My throat was dry, like I'd swallowed rusted nails soaked in blood and cheap whiskey. That familiar metallic taste clawed at the back of my tongue.
My body—fuck—it felt like it wasn't mine. Heavy. Sluggish. Like I'd been drugged.
I tried to think. Tried to remember anything from last night.
And all I got...
Was a blur.
My mother's face.
Tears.
Then—
Nothing.
A void.
My brows furrowed, muscles twitching under the pressure building in my skull.
Instinct kicked in. My hand moved toward the pillow, where my gun usually lived—my old, loyal friend.
But instead of cold metal...
I felt warmth.
Softness.
What the—
My fingers froze.
My breath caught in my throat as I turned my head slightly.
And then I saw her.
A girl.
In my arms.
Pressed against my chest like she belonged there.
Long hair. Pale skin. Barely breathing. Innocent. Sleeping like she had no fucking clue who she was touching.
I blinked.
My jaw locked.
Her scent hit me like a quiet explosion—rose water... and something maddeningly pure. Like silence before a storm. Like peace before chaos.
I stared.
I didn't breathe.
Her lips were parted, letting out a slow, content sigh that ghosted over my skin.
She held on to me.
Tightly.
Like she was afraid the world would swallow her if she let go.
Her fists clutched my shirt like I was her only anchor.
Like I was hers.
A tiny sound escaped her—fragile. Real.
And without thinking, without knowing why...
I whispered—
"Kitten..."
I didn't mean to.
I didn't want to.
But it came out of me like it had been buried somewhere in the ashes I called a soul.
My hand hovered over her face. Just for a second. Just to move that fucking strand of hair...
But then—
It hit me.
Reality.
A crashing, violent wave.
WHAT THE FUCK.
My eyes shot open, ice-cold and burning all at once.
My sanctuary.
No one was allowed here. No one. Not even family.
She tightened her grip like she belonged there, like she knew me.
Knew nothing.
And just like that—
The calm shattered.
Rage tore through my chest like wildfire.
I yanked her back, rough and unforgiving, dragging her out of that peaceful sleep and into my hell.
Her eyes blinked open, wide, terrified.
Tears welled instantly.
Good.
Let her cry.
Let her feel what it's like to touch a monster and survive it.
"Who the hell are you..." I growled, my voice low and lethal,
"...and what the fuck are you doing in my bed?"
She whimpered.
Tears slid down her face like broken glass.
She stammered, but no words came.
Just fear.
And goddamn it, it felt right.
It felt like me again.
Everything inside me screamed to push her off, to erase this entire moment.
But then—
I looked around.
And everything collapsed.
This room...
This wasn't mine.
The curtains. The scent of incense.
The sunlight pouring in through haveli windows.
This is not my penthouse.
This is not my goddamn space.
This is not my world.
And then—
It all burned.
The last string holding my sanity together snapped.
My hands clutched my head, the pain mixing with fury.
My vision blurred.
And the scream ripped out of me like an explosion I couldn't contain.
"AGHHHHH! FUCKKKKKKKK!"
Everything inside me shattered.
I didn't care about her.
I didn't care about the world.
All I knew was—
Rivan Thakur had been played.
Dragged.
And now...
Now they would pay.
I open my eyes and I'm not in my penthouse. I'm not in control. I'm not even in my goddamn world.
This room reeks of old memories, of a haveli I never wanted to return to, and there she is—
This girl. This trembling, crying, hiccuping mess of a girl.
What the fuck is she doing here?
Why the hell was she curled up beside me like she belonged there?
Who the fuck gave her the right?
And then it hits me like a punch straight to the chest—
She was sleeping on me.
Her hand on my chest. Her fucking breath on my neck.
Like I'm some kind of protection.
Protection? From me?
Does she even know who I am?
No—scratch that. Does anyone here know what I'm capable of when I lose control?
And I'm already losing it.
My head feels like it's splitting open. My veins are full of fire. My hands are trembling with so much rage I could tear this entire fucking haveli down with them.
And amidst it all... she cries.
Like I'm the villain in her nightmare.
But here's the fucked-up part—
I am the villain.
Just not in this story. Not in this moment.
Because I don't even know what the hell this story is.
I clutched my head again. My skull's pounding—no, screaming—with flashes.
Reyansh's goddamn voice in my ear.
Aditya's fucking betrayal—injecting me like I'm some animal they needed to sedate.
Darkness. Cold. Movement.
And then...her.
Her softness against my chest.
Her warmth.
Her breath syncing with mine.
This is not how my life works. This is not how I operate.
I don't wake up next to girls. I don't let anyone in my bed. I don't even let anyone near me.
And now here she is, curled up like she belongs.
No.
No fucking way.
I see red. I yell. I curse. I slam my fist into the wood until it nearly cracks because it's better than breaking her.
But then...
She sobs.
Harder. Louder.
Like I'm a beast about to devour her.
And the worst part?
I am.
But not like this.
She stammers. She shakes. She stutters words that make no sense.
My gun finds my hand like it was born there.
Because that's how I survive. That's how I breathe—by controlling what's in front of me.
And she...she is chaos.
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!"
Nothing. Just her tears. Just her eyes. Big, brown, terrified.
I've pointed guns at enemies. I've seen men piss themselves before I pulled the trigger. But this?
This isn't fear of dying.
This is the kind of fear that's been lived with.
That's built in.
What the hell has she been through?
My fingers twitch. The safety's off. One second and she's gone.
But she whispers—
"P-please...don't...kill...m-me..."
And she collapses.
Just like that.
Falls like a feather. Like all her weight, all her pain, gave up on her at once.
And I—
I freeze.
What the fuck just happened?
Why did she faint?
I crouch. My jaw's tight enough to shatter teeth. My chest is thudding. My vision's shaking.
I should walk away.
I should call, Aditya, anyone, and tell them to take this girl away from me before I do something unforgivable.
But I don't.
I stare.
At her tiny form, curled up like she's protecting whatever's left of her soul.
And in that exact moment...
I hate myself.
For scaring her.
For yelling.
For being the devil they all say I am.
But I also hate her.
For being here.
For making me feel this shit I buried long ago.
For looking like something I once swore to destroy.
I grip her wrist—rough, fast—because anger is safer than whatever the fuck is happening inside me.
But deep down?
I'm not asking for answers.
I'm begging for an escape.
From her.
From me.
From whatever the fuck they've done this time.
What the actual fuck is happening?
I don't remember walking into this room. I don't remember roses scattered on the goddamn floor, or that sindoor lying like a crime scene on my fucking table. I don't remember this lehenga-clad girl... sitting on my bed... like some kind of newly wedded bride.
But I remember one thing—
Aditya.
Injecting me. Forcing shit down my throat with Reyansh's help like I'm a wild animal.
I remember that.
And now I wake up here? In this haveli? With her?
I laughed. Not because it was funny. No. That laugh came from the pit of my gut, from the madness boiling in my veins, because this was not real.
Couldn't be.
They wouldn't fucking dare.
My boots crushed the roses underfoot. Every step I took sounded louder than thunder in my head. Her lehenga shimmered like blood in light. And then she moved.
She opened her eyes.
And it was like she saw the devil himself standing before her. Good. Because that's exactly what they've turned me into.
She tried to run—slipped. Of course. I caught her. Her wrist felt like glass in my grip. I should've let her fall, honestly. But something inside me didn't let go.
Why didn't I let go?
I shoved that thought out. I pinned her with my glare and hissed right in her face, "Don't try to act smart."
She looked up at me, big doe eyes brimming with tears, lips trembling like I was going to snap her neck any moment. And then—
She said it.
"Sorry... pati parmeshwar ji."
What. The. Fuck.
The words hung in the air like poison.
Pati parmeshwar?
Pati—
My veins went cold.
I took a step back. Stared at her. For a second I thought I heard wrong. I wanted to believe I heard wrong.
But her head was bowed. Her hands trembling as she fiddled with her goddamn bridal outfit like some docile wife.
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"
The words scraped from my throat like razors.
And when she didn't repeat it... when she just stood there like a mute fucking puppet, I saw red.
My breath exploded from my lungs.
This is a trap. A well-planned, beautiful little trap. Decorated with roses, wrapped in silk, sealed with blood.
And I'm the prize. The fool. The sacrifice.
Rivan Thakur. Played like a pawn.
By my own fucking blood.
I turned away before I did something unfixable.
And then I let it rip.
"ADITYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
My roar shook the whole fucking haveli.
I swear to God, the walls vibrated. The windows rattled. The goddamn air cracked.
I hope it reached him wherever the fuck he's hiding. I hope it slammed into his chest and choked him. Because the moment I see his face—
I will bury him.
This was no prank.
This wasn't brotherhood.
This was war
A minutes later
All standing there like some fucking courtroom jury.
Like they didn't know.
Like they weren't in on it.
Aditya. Reyansh. My so-called father. All standing like they're innocent.
And her...
Clutching her shawl like it's going to save her from me.
Crying. Running toward him.
Calling him sweet uncle Like she belongs here.
"He said he'll kill me... he is bad... very bad person!"
Tch.
Bad person?
You want bad?
I'll show you fucking bad.
The second Mr Thakur took a step forward, smiling at her like she's some scared bacchi, something in me snapped.
You'll protect her?
Where the fuck was that protection when I needed it?
Where was that soft voice when I screamed?
"STOP. THE. FUCKING. SHITTTTTT!!!"
My voice ripped through the room like a razor through flesh.
I didn't know I picked up the vase until I saw it shatter against the floor. The glass cracked like bone. Pieces scattered like guilt.
They all stepped back.
Cowards.
Except him.
Mr Thakur didn't flinch. Of course, he didn't. He has practice, doesn't he? Staying composed while chaos blooms around him.
She crouched down, sobbing like a trapped bird, shielding her head like I'm going to strike.
And for a wild second... I wanted to.
Not because I hated her.
No.
Because I hated that she called him sweet uncle.
"Bhaiyya, wait... let me explain—"
His voice.
Aditya.
He's still trying to talk.
Still thinks he can use his calm, saint-like tone and soothe the beast.
Let me explain.
That you chose this little lamb, knowing she'd get devoured the moment I woke up?
I turned to him slowly. Every step I took felt like thunder. My fists were clenched. My knuckles white.
I looked at him like I was looking at a stranger.
And then I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
But because I realized—
I don't know these people anymore.
Not my brother.
Not my father.
Not even the girl in red.
And maybe I never did.
They say a man breaks only once.
They lie.
Some men break in pieces.
Over and over.
And still walk like nothing's broken.
That's me.
But this... this is new.
This isn't a crack.
This is a fucking explosion inside my skull.
A girl is crying in my room—my room.
Everyone's looking at me like I'm the animal.
But no one asked what they did to me.
Why the fuck am I here?
Why is she calling me "husband" like it's the most normal thing in the world?
Is this a joke?
Some twisted family drama where the black sheep finally gets "settled" because he's too dangerous to live alone?
I should laugh.
But all I want to do is kill.
Her sobbing voice—it drills into my brain like knives. Her eyes, her trembling, her helpless face—it all looks so real. Too real.
But I don't trust it.
Not when I've seen prettier lies before.
Not when I've bled from trusting hands.
So I raised the gun.
Didn't even think twice.
Her eyes went wide.
She stopped crying.
Just like that.
You know how fucked up that is?
How a person freezes under threat like that?
She didn't scream.
She didn't run.
She just... shut down.
And somehow—that rattled me more than the noise ever could.
Aditya stepped in, pleading. I didn't hear half of it. The blood in my ears was louder.
But then he said it.
That word.
"Wife."
And I swear to God, something black slithered down my spine.
Wife?
Mine?
Who the fuck gave me one?
Who the hell gave them the right?
I see red again.
Memories claw through the wall I built years ago.
Betrayals. Rooms I couldn't escape.
They say it's for my good.
They always fucking say that.
I grabbed Aditya by the collar, slammed him with the truth he didn't want to hear:
"YOU DRUGGED ME."
And then Reyansh joined in—of course he did. The loyal friend trying to clean up the mess.
Don't.
Just fucking don't.
I'm not the mess here.
They are.
The circus, the rituals, the lehenga, the sindoor—it's all a fucking joke. A drama staged behind my back.
And now there's a girl in the center of it.
One they chose for me.
Tch.
Save yourselves.
I looked at her.
That innocent face. Those glassy eyes.
She says she doesn't know anything.
"M-mujhe kuch nahi pata..."
Shut up.
Please. Just shut the fuck up.
Because the more you speak like that, the more it confuses me.
Because if you're innocent, then what the fuck am I supposed to do with this hate burning inside me?
Because if you're not the villain... then maybe I am.
I didn't ask for this.
I didn't ask for you.
I don't want to touch you, break you, or hear your sobs echo in my walls. But if they leave you in this room again, I can't promise what will survive.
Either you or me.
"STOP IT!!"
That's when I lost it.
Right there.
That single moment when Mr Thakur dared to say those fucking words to my face — "The marriage is already done."
As if that means something to me.
As if that fucking ritual somehow erases what he did.
What they all did.
"Mr. Thakur," I snarled—no, I spat—through my teeth, my rage vibrating through every inch of my body.
"I'm not talking to you!
Did you fucking hear me?!
I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU!!"
And he just stood there—calm, silent, noble.
Like the goddamn king of this circus.
Like he still owned me.
And then...
Then I saw her.
That woman.
The one standing beside him.
Her.
Bessie of the throne. The one who took my mother place.
Who sat in her place.
Who calls this haveli her home.
I saw her face... and something inside me snapped.
I don't know what it was.
Maybe the memory of my mother's shattered bangles on the marble floor.
Maybe the sound of her gasping for breath.
Maybe just the silence she left behind.
But in that second, I wanted to burn this whole place down.
I wanted to grab that woman by the throat and scream,
"I'll bury you with my own hands!"
That... that woman... she is nothing.
My mother... she was everything.
And now they expect me to smile, to accept, to obey?
I lost my mind.
I grabbed that broken shard from the floor — and I slashed it across my palm like I was cutting out the madness itself.
Because pain...
Pain is the only thing that listens.
The only thing that stays loyal.
And I stood there, bleeding. Panting.calming myself.
But then—
Then something stopped me cold.
Not a word.
Not a scream.
Not even a command.
Just...
Hands.
Warm.
Small.
Shaking.
Touching mine.
I looked down—and there she was.
Kitten
Her fingers wrapped around my wrist, not to stop me—but to hold me.
To ground me.
Her eyes wide, full of fear... but not for herself.
For me.
And just like that—
Everything inside me paused.
The storm stilled.
Not because I calmed down.
Not because I understood.
But because someone touched me... without trying to control me.
Without thinking .
Without demanding.
She just held my bleeding hand like it was something precious.
And for the first time...
I didn't know what to do.
Not with the blood.
Not with her.
Not with the boy inside me who still screams for his mother every night.
I just stood there.
Frozen.
Bleeding.
And for a moment... breathing.
You know that feeling...
When the whole world goes silent, but not peaceful silent — the kind that rings in your ears like a warning?
That's what it felt like.
When she said those words.
"Please kill me if you want to... but don't bleed..."
I swear...
I've heard people beg before.
I've seen death up close.
I've heard last breaths, watched men crawl with their insides spilling out.
But this?
This wasn't just pain.
This was raw pleading.
And it wasn't for her own life...
It was for mine.
Why?
Why the hell would she care?
Her hands were smeared in my blood — trembling, small, but locked around mine like she was the one dying.
Her voice... cracked and childish, like something was broken in her long before I ever touched her life.
"Bhagwan ji... I promised You I'll take care of him..."
That line?
It sliced deeper than any glass ever could.
She was still praying — for me.
Still bargaining with her God like a desperate child trying to stop a storm with paper walls.
She said she'd cook. Sweep.
Even bribe her god with one rupee...
Just to make my pain stop.
What kind of girl does that?
What kind of girl begs her god to stop someone else's bleeding?
I didn't say a word.
I couldn't.
My tongue was stone.
My breath... lost.
All I could do was stare.
At her.
At this trembling creature who looked like she'd lived in shadows all her life, but still had the courage to step between me and my madness.
And yet here she was... clutching my bloody hand like it was sacred.
I should've pulled away.
I should've snapped at her.
I should've kill her.
But I didn't.
Because in that moment...
I wasn't Rivan Thakur.
I was just a broken man...
being held by someone who looked even more broken —
but still chose to hold me.
Tell me, what kind of cruel joke is that?
I didn't plan to bleed tonight.
I planned to explode.
I planned to break, to destroy something — someone.
To remind them that I'm not to be toyed with.
Not to be tricked into marriages.
Not to be fed lies.
But then...
She said she'd give me her toffees.
She clutched my bleeding hand like it was her own wound, like she could stop the pain by shaking, crying, pleading.
And then she just — collapsed.
Right into me.
Like she belonged there.
Like she knew I wouldn't let her fall.
Tell me, what kind of madness is that?
And what am I supposed to do with that?
She called me Pati ji.
She said she'd be a good wife.
She begged me not to bleed — not for her, but because she was scared of blood.
I should've been angry.
Should've shrugged her off.
Should've let her fall to the ground.
But when she went limp...
When her head dropped into the space between my neck and shoulder...
When those tiny fists clenched my shirt like I was the last thread keeping her alive...
I broke.
Not loudly.
Not with rage.
Just... silently.
Inside.
I don't know what the hell I felt.
Maybe it was guilt.
Maybe it was shame.
Maybe it was the ghost of the boy I once was... the one who believed in family, in protection, in—
No.
That boy is dead.
But she...
She's trying to revive him. With trembling hands and sugar-coated promises and broken prayers.
Why?
She's unconscious now. Breathing softly. Still murmuring "Pati ji..." like I've earned that title.
I haven't.
But today... in this room... with her face pressed into my neck and her tears soaking my shirt...
I didn't feel like a punishment.
She was still holding my shirt.
So tightly.
Like letting go meant she'd die right there in front of me.
And what did I do?
I stayed.
I freaking stayed.
I could've pushed her hand away. Walked out. Shouted. Anything.
But instead... I brushed her hair from her face. Moved it softly like some bloody lover from a tragic film.
So damn close... I could feel her breath on my jaw. Her warmth bleeding into my ribs. Her fingers twitching slightly like she was still holding on to me in her dreams.
And for a stupid, reckless, brain-dead second—
I forgot.
I forgot who I am.
I forgot the entire circus standing behind me.
My family. My so-called family.
The very same people who drugged me, dressed me like a doll, and married me off like I'm their damn property.
Yeah.
Them.
They stood there.
Watching me.
Witnessing their monster son sitting beside the fragile doll they chose for him. Their pet project. Their pawn.
And here I am, touching her like she means something.
My gut twisted.
Reality didn't just hit me—
It slammed into me like a truck.
I yanked myself back so fast, her hand nearly fell off my shirt. My jaw locked. My eyes burned. Her touch? Forbidden. Off-limits. Alien.
I'm not supposed to feel anything. Not for her.
Because she's part of their plan.
Because she is the noose tied around my neck, disguised in sindoor and bangles.
I stood up.
Eyes.
So many damn eyes on me.
Judging. Waiting. Whispering. Probably dying to run their mouths and gossip like this is some episode of their favourite TV soap.
"Poor Rivan Thakur, look how gentle he is. He even looked concerned. Must be love at first drug."
Fuck off.
And yet... what do I do?
What do I freaking do?
I look straight at Aditya and say—
"Call the doctor."
Why?!
Do I care?
No.
Should I care?
Hell no.
But I said it.
I called a damn doctor for the girl who was planted in my life like a ticking time bomb. The girl who called me Pati ji while trembling from head to toe. The girl who cried for me.
And you know what my brain said?
"Oh, it's the drugs. Don't worry. Totally not your heart softening. It's just the chemicals."
Yeah, right.
Pathetic excuse, but I clung to it.
Because the alternative?
The alternative is worse.
So I stayed quiet. Convincing myself that it was the drug. That I was not losing it.
And then?
I walked away.
Out to the balcony.
Far from the stares. The air. The suffocation.
I needed to breathe.
I needed silence.
I needed to feel like me again.
But even then...
Even then...
Her voice. Her words. Her hands.
They stayed.
Right here.
In my goddamn chest.
RIVAN groaned, his voice sharp but controlled.
"Ahhh... kitten, let me get up first."
Her tiny body clung even tighter, her face stubbornly pressed into his neck.
"No... no! He'll eat me... me and you both! He's a very big monster—"
She hiccupped, trembling, her words slipping without filter. "Just like you..."